This came to me in a dream when I was 15 years old. That means it took me 19 years to get it into the text at the time I am writing this. I’m not sure why I haven’t done so, sooner, but better late than never, right. It was a turbulent time for me at the age of 15, but also, little did I know that I was a writer in the making. I always had interesting and lucid dreams and they kept me entertained during my otherwise boring slumber. Now all that appeared in the story, didn’t appear in the dream. I added many things, because between age 15 and now I gained quite a deal of life experiences.
Without further ado, here we go:
I’ve been rejected by and expelled from the affluent people of whom I formerly dwelt amongst.
I never felt right with them anyway.
Therefore, I took what I could carry and left this wretched place, never to look back.
I travel for hours until the late afternoon, then wind up in a ghetto.
It is not like an average American ghetto, save the authenticity.
Yes, it is run down. Yes, the houses and buildings are older. Yes, the people are hard-pressed.
Despite all this destitution, it is a peaceful and happy place.
I walk around and take it all in.
I hear the music and news broadcasts coming out of a dozen different radios. Some words are foreign, either from Slavic or Romance languages, the rest are in English.
I see young women in kerchiefs staring out their kitchen windows as they prepare the evening meals.
I hear the socket wrenches turning and clicking as repairs are being made to vehicles and other machinery.
I see older women congregating in front of the drug store with their newly purchased prescriptions.
I hear a flock of birds singing as they take off into the sunset.
I see children running around and playing in the streets.
I hear refuse being placed in cans.
I see men of all ages standing in the alleyways, some are fellowshipping, others are keeping watch they are all carrying flashlights and knives, and, some are carrying revolvers.
I hear the wheels of shopping carts rolling on the sidewalks, with the accompanying footsteps.
I see an artist captivating the moment of his surroundings in a painted portrait.
I hear a violinist playing rich music in harmony with all that is around her.
I see many young lovers caressing each other while sitting on the steps.
I hear telephones ringing nearby and tugboat whistles in the distance.
Then there is one beautiful girl, about my age, standing under a fire escape, staring and smiling at me.
I smile back, totally captivated by her gaze.
She motions for me to come to her.
With giddiness, I begin to walk.
She brings me to her dwelling, then to her bed.
We sit and talk.
Our hearts flutter.
She holds my hands.
We keep talking, I amuse her with my many stories, when she steals a kiss.
I kiss her in return.
The passions between us begin to build but then her younger sister walks in.
We’ve been caught.
I’m nervous, as the rest of the family surrounds us.
They’re not angry with me.
They are very kind and welcoming, the complete opposite of where I was before.
We walk down to the nook between the kitchen and the entrance and they give me a generous plate of food.
It looks very odd but tastes like something from Heaven.
I heartily and happily eat as I explain to them how I am an exile and have nowhere to go.
They prepare an inflatable mattress for me and lay it on the kitchen floor.
I set my bag down.
They see I have no clothes, except for what I am wearing so they take my measurements, then, in time, hand me some bright white tee shirts, durable khaki pants, soft grey socks, and sturdy brown work boots.
The girl and I sit on my borrowed mattress, exchanging our affections, for hours, but time seems to pass by like a shooting star.
The lights and radios are then turned off but the fans are turned on.
She kisses me goodnight and walks to her shared bedroom.
I stare at the cracked ceiling and soon fall asleep, finally, with a deep sense of belonging…